


Snips, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [52]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Hartwin, M/M, Spy!harry, veterinarian!eggsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:24:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9975410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: How about Merhartwin or Hartwin where Eggsy is a vet and they eventually recruit him to Kingsman as a vet and to assist with parkour training/how to blend in if your target isn’t a rich old white dude.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a giveaway fic for the first-place winner forgottenkanji on Tumblr~

Eggsy had clawed his way out of his old life by his fingernails, refusing to fall into the same beer-soaked existence most of his peers were headed for. He’d always had a knack for saving things, himself and his mum included. 

 

The only good thing Dean Baker had ever given them was Daisy. The instant Eggsy had had enough money to get out from under a roof Dean paid for, he’d taken them to a small, cramped flat in an equally bad part of town. Things had been tight for a while. A long while. 

 

They’d had bills to pay, an infant to care for, even more loans looming in the distance. But Eggsy had refused to let them go limping back to Dean. He’d worked three jobs, snatching sleep where he could, and sending money home to his mum and kid sister whenever he had it. 

 

When things had gotten particularly bad, he’d even considered enlisting, but his mum had refused to let him. She wouldn’t see another one of her men brought home in a body bag, she said. 

 

So Eggsy had kept on, scraping together what he could where he could. Smith Street was quickly becoming a more and more viable option. 

 

Things had piled up, piled up, piled up, until the only way Eggsy could escape the weight was to drink himself into oblivion in one of London’s many hole-in-the-wall pubs. He wouldn’t go back home those nights, crashing with one of his mates, or finding some back alley to hole up in for a few hours until he was mostly sober again. 

 

It had been on a night like that that he’d gotten pissed enough to jack someone’s car, taking it on a joyride until he’d chosen to hurt himself instead of a fox. The prospect of going to jail had instantly sobered Eggsy. What were his mum and Daisy going to do if he was stuck in a cell? 

 

Desperation had overridden common sense, and he’d dug his father’s old medal out of his shirt. There was a number scrawled in the back, the coded phrase the mysterious, suited man had told him so long ago floating through Eggsy’s mind. So, he’d dialed. Been hung up on. Been released from holding in minutes. 

 

All of it had been a little confusing, really. 

 

But the biggest point was that Eggsy was freed. He’d turned things around afterward, refusing to let that miracle go to waste. 

 

Michelle had looked at him in disbelief when he’d said he wanted to go to medical school to become a vet. “Do you have any idea how much that’ll cost, Eggsy? We can barely afford what we have right now.” 

 

“I know, mum, but I’ll take out loans, and when I’m a real doctor I’ll be able to earn it all back. Cross my heart,” Eggsy had said, x-ing over his heart. 

 

So Michelle had relented, and Eggsy had thrown himself into his education with a passion. He kept up with his jobs, running on caffeine and willpower alone most days. 

 

Finally, years later, a very exhausted but triumphant Eggsy Unwin was christened Gary Unwin, M.D., with a shiny plaque to prove it. 

 

The day he’d gotten his first real job as a vet’s assistant, he’d hugged his mum so hard her laugh turned breathless. 

 

“I’m so proud of you, Eggsy,” she had whispered in his ear, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. 

 

Student loans still loomed over him, but Eggsy was finally happy where he was. His work ethic quickly jettisoned him up the corporate ladder, and it was only a few years before he was head of his own practice. 

 

“Dr. Unwin.” 

 

The quiet voice pulls Eggsy out of his musings, and he looks up to see the ever-stately Mr. Hart standing in the doorway, his tiny dog cradled in his arms. 

 

“My apologies, your receptionist told me you were ready,” Harry says, a slight smile flitting over his face. 

 

Eggsy waves away his concerns. “Nah, nah, I am. Sorry about that, I was just thinkin’. How are we today?” he asks, smiling brightly at both Harry and his dog. 

 

Harry moves into the room, setting Mr. Pickle down on the examination table, one hand stroking his head. “No changes since our last check-up.” 

 

“Glad to hear it,” Eggsy says, gathering up his stethoscope. He makes his way over to the examination table as well, ruffling Mr. Pickle’s ears fondly. He goes about the routine exam, checking the dog’s breathing, teeth, eyes, nails. Eventually, he steps back with a few more affectionate pats. 

 

“Well, everythin’ seems alright with him.” Eggsy scribbles a few things down on the clipboard. “Ain’t sure I can say the same thing about you, though,” he says, arching one eyebrow at Harry. 

 

Harry’s head jerks up slightly, eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?” 

 

Eggsy tilts his head to one side, and nods towards Harry’s leg. “You were limpin’, bruv. And don’t think I ain’t noticed that you usually come in here with stitches or bandages or somethin’. I just hope you’re keepin’ your dog out of whatever trouble you’re gettin’ into.” He smiles wryly, letting Harry know that he’s mostly joking. 

 

Despite that, Harry seems to hesitate. 

 

Eggsy can practically see the gears turning in Harry’s head, and he leans forward curiously. Despite having known Harry since he first opened up the practice, the man is still a complete mystery to Eggsy. 

 

First off, his dog is named Mr. Pickle. Second, he comes in with a patchwork of stitches and bandages, limps, bruises, any sort of injury one could imagine. Third, he carries an umbrella no matter the weather. Truly, it’s a little bizarre. 

 

Eggsy had just pegged him as an upper-class eccentric at first, but Harry didn’t speak like one. He seemed perfectly educated, perfectly sane. Except everything about him screamed ‘secret.’ 

 

Harry glances around, moving into Eggsy’s space and lowering his voice. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” he says. 

 

“What?” Eggsy whispers back, because he feels like something about this requires whispering. 

 

Smiling slightly, Harry explains. “My job entails a certain amount of work with dogs such as my Mr. Pickle, and in a few instances they’ve received injuries as well. My associate has been considering bringing on a veterinarian for such occasions, and I’ve been considering recommending you.”

 

Eggsy blinks, dumbfounded. Him? What had he done to stand out in such a way that Harry would consider offering him a position with a company that’s probably as posh as Harry looks? 

 

As the silence stretches outward, Harry adds, “We’re looking for employees with a high level of discretion. Do you think you would be able to handle that?” 

 

The oddity of the qualification snaps Eggsy out of his stupor. “Yeah, bruv, I can keep my mouth shut,” he promises. “If you need that in your… line of work.” Eggsy rakes his eyes up and down Harry. It’s not the first time he’s realized how well he fills out that suit of his, and he quickly looks away. 

 

Harry only smirks, nodding once. “I’ll let my associate know. Good day, Dr. Unwin.” 

 

“See ya later, Mr. Hart.” 

-

Usually, Eggsy only sees Harry once every six months, whenever he brings Mr. Pickle in for his bi-annual checkup. But here Harry is, strolling back in after a mere three days, no dog in sight. 

 

“Mr. Hart,” Eggsy says, slightly surprised. He’d managed to convince himself that their whole conversation had been a joke or a dream or… something other than reality. 

 

“Dr. Unwin,” Harry replies, inclining his head. “Do you have somewhere private we could talk?” 

 

For a moment, Eggsy can’t do anything more than blink. “Er, yeah,” he finally says. “My office.” He heads that way, checking over his shoulder to see if Harry is following him. Anticipation tingles in his fingertips. He feels like he’s going to be let in on whatever Harry has been keeping close to his chest all these years, and he’s nearly bouncing by the time they reach his office. 

 

Eggsy quickly unlocks the door, ushering Harry in, and closing it behind them. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks. 

 

Harry turns to face him, eyes flat and no-nonsense. “Swear to me that you won’t breathe a word of what I’m about to say to anyone. Not your friends, not your family, not a significant other, no one.” 

 

Everything about Harry says that he’s dead serious about this. Yet the only thing that Eggsy can think to say is, “I don’t have a significant other.” 

 

“What?” Harry asks, nonplussed. 

 

“I mean,” Eggsy hastily corrects himself, “I won’t tell anyone. Swear down.” He makes an X over his heart, a childish habit he’s picked up from dealing with Daisy all the time. 

 

Harry stares steadily back at him for a long moment before shaking his head slightly. “To put it simply, I’m a member of a top secret spy organization formed after World War 2, and my associate and I would like you to become one of us. A Kingsman.” 

 

Silence. 

 

Eggsy looks at Harry. 

 

Harry looks at Eggsy. 

 

Eggsy bursts out laughing. “You really sold it there, mate. Even had me goin’ for a second there by shuttin’ us up in the office and all.” He grins lopsidedly, shaking his head. “You didn’t really strike me as the jokin’ type, maybe that’s what did it. Caught me off guard and all.” 

 

Harry doesn’t look nearly as amused as Eggsy thinks he should be. 

 

It takes a bit, but Eggsy does manage to settle down. Harry is still staring at him in stony silence, and he starts to feel a little uneasy. “Mr. Hart? You was jokin’, right? I mean, you gotta be, that sort of thing is only… in the… movies.” He falters as Harry takes a few steps back, lifting his wrist. 

 

“What are you doin’?” Eggsy asks as Harry’s fingers start fiddling with his watch. 

 

“Don’t move,” Harry says. 

 

Something in his tone has Eggsy freezing in place, limbs locking. He watches wide-eyed as Harry seems to be taking aim with his wristwatch. Just as Eggsy opens his mouth to ask what he’s doing again, there’s a small hissing sound, and something buries itself in the wood right next to Eggsy’s ear. 

 

Automatically, he flinches away, gaping at Harry. “Did you just try and  _ shoot me _ ?” he asks. “ _ With your watch? _ ” 

 

“No,” Harry says innocently. “If I had tried to shoot you, I would have hit you.” 

 

Eggsy’s jaw still hasn’t found its way back to where it belongs. He glances from Harry to the door behind him. There’s a small, thin dart stuck in it. “What the fuck,” he says flatly. 

 

“I told you,” Harry says, all sorts of smug. “I’m a spy. We have our tricks.” 

 

“Okay,” Eggsy says, holding out a hand. “Just… just give me a second to process all this.” 

 

Harry waits patiently as Eggsy’s mind races. 

 

Spies exist. His client is a spy. Said client wants him to become a spy as well. Or at least help the spies. 

 

Eggsy pinches himself, hard, and pain blooms beneath his fingernails. Not dreaming, then. “So, all of this is real,” he says, not really talking to anyone in particular. 

 

“Yes,” Harry answers anyways. 

 

“Which means you really have just offered me a place in your spy organization.” This time, Eggsy is clearly talking to Harry. 

 

“Yes,” Harry repeats. 

 

Eggsy whistles, long and low. “And you honestly think anyone’s gonna say  _ no _ to that?” 

 

One corner of Harry’s mouth curls up in amusement. “Am I to assume that’s a yes?” he asks. 

 

“Fuck yeah, it’s a yes,” Eggsy says, practically vibrating with excitement. “I got one question about all this, though.” 

 

Harry inclines his head, inviting him to ask. 

 

Eggsy grins cheekily. “When do I start?” 

-

Today has already been the strangest day in Eggsy’s life, and it’s barely ten in the morning. Harry had led him through a startlingly normal tailor shop that had stopped being startlingly normal when the first fitting room turned into a lift and the earth swallowed them up. He’s been ogling things ever since, the tube that took them to a manor in the middle of nowhere, the room full of vehicles that looked like they belonged in a museum, Harry… 

 

Eggsy clears his throat, shaking those thoughts out of his head. He’s here to work, not stare at Harry, even though he’s never had the chance to before, really, not when his main focus had been Mr. Pickle. Harry, as it turns out, is very nice to look at. 

 

The man himself clears his throat and Eggsy suddenly realizes they’re not alone anymore. They’re standing in an office that looks like it’s been ripped from the centerfold of a techie magazine. A bald man sits in the middle of a nest of computer monitors, spinning around to face the two of them head-on. 

 

“Dr. Unwin, this is my associate, Merlin. Merlin, this is Dr. Unwin,” Harry says. 

 

Eggsy steps forward, offering his hand. “You can just call me Eggsy,” he says with a polite, and slightly uncertain, smile. Merlin looks grim and taciturn, and he’s altogether a little intimidating.  

 

“Eggsy,” Merlin says without batting an eye. “Galahad tells me you’re quite a skilled veterinarian.” 

 

Eggsy releases Merlin’s hand, brow furrowed. “Galahad?” 

 

“My codename,” Harry says, straightening his shoulders and giving Eggsy another one of his smug smiles. 

 

“Codename,” Eggsy echoes. “Right. Am I gonna get one of those?” 

 

Merlin arches an eyebrow at the obvious enthusiasm in Eggsy’s tone, and Eggsy mentally chastises himself. These are spies, he reminds himself. One didn’t see James Bond grinning like a maniac at every twist and turn. 

 

Eggsy straightens his shoulders like Harry, trying to match his cool look. “Actually, I should probably just stick with Dr. Unwin. I didn’t spend all that time getting my doctorate to be called Galahad,” he mutters. 

 

Harry and Merlin swap amused glances, and Harry claps Eggsy on the shoulder. “Actually, we were thinking of calling you Mordred.” 

 

Eggsy’s eyes light up, his resolve to be suave completely abandoned. “Mordred,” he says, testing it out. “That’s the fuckin’ coolest codename.” 

-

As it turns out, Eggsy fits right in at Kingsman, even without the calm and collected demeanor all the spies in movies seem to possess. He gets along well with the agents, charming them with his natural likeability, and his less-than-polished accent. It doesn’t hurt that he fixes up their beloved pets for them. 

 

Every agent seems to have a soft spot for their dog. Eggsy has never had more enthusiastically grateful clientele. 

 

There are a few among them who seem to think his background makes him unworthy of their time or respect, but an incident a few months into his employment at Kingsman changes that. 

 

Roxy, the youngest agent, and the one Eggsy gets along the best with, bursts into his office. “We have a situation,” she says breathlessly. 

 

Instantly, Eggsy is ready, snatching up his travel bag that he always keeps well-stocked and ready. One never knows what one is going to get at Kingsman after all. Even though Eggsy has learned to expect the unexpected, this situation still throws him for a loop. 

 

A tiny pug stands trembling on a balustrade, four stories up. An agent is hanging out the nearest window, trying in vain to reach the dog, but his grasping hands fall short. 

 

“How the fuck did he get up there?” Eggsy asks, squinting up at the pug. Roxy opens her mouth to explain, but Eggsy puts up his hand. “No. No. I don’t want to know. Just stay here, I’ll get him down.”  

 

To the bemused stares of the agents who have clustered around to watch, Eggsy slings off his bag, shedding his lab coat as well. 

 

Tristan, one of the agents who had never really taken a shine to Eggsy, scoffs. “What are you planning on doing,  _ bruv _ ? Flying up there?” 

 

Eggsy ignores him. He rolls his shoulders, flexes his fingers, and scans the side of the manor, mentally cataloguing any potential hand- and footholds. When he’s planned a rough route up, he launches himself at the wall. Fingertips hooking onto a window sill, Eggsy hauls himself up to crouch on it. He barely hesitates before scrambling to the top of the window, and then the bottom of the next one, making it three stories up in a matter of seconds. 

 

The next part is going to be slightly more challenging. A ledge juts out overhead, the lip half a foot behind his head. 

 

Eggsy sucks in a deep breath, exhaling in a slow, steady stream. Then, without giving himself time to think, he throws himself backwards off the windowsill. He times it perfectly, hands flinging out and up, clamping onto the edge. Letting out a small, relieved laugh, Eggsy slings one leg up, rolling onto the small ledge, and giving himself a second to breathe. 

 

Once he’s recovered, he crawls his way along until he reaches the still-shaking pug. 

 

“I’ve got you,” he assures it, drawing it close to his chest. He hears a few scattered cheers from the agents on the ground and gives them a cheeky salute with his free hand. Tucking the pug into his shirt, Eggsy makes his way back down to the ground carefully, retracing his path up.  

 

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he’s surrounded by the other Kingsmen. The pug is whisked away from him, and subjected to the most intense coddling of its life, several agents fawning over it as if it were their own. 

 

“That was incredible,” Roxy says, passing Eggsy his things. “You need to teach me how to do that.” 

 

A few voices join hers in a chorus of agreement, the requests for Eggsy to teach them what he knows bringing a tinge of color to his cheeks. 

 

“I suppose I could-” 

 

He’s interrupted by a thunderous shout. “Eggsy!” 

 

Spinning around, Eggsy sees Harry striding towards them, tight-lipped and eyes blazing. 

 

“Rain check on the parkour lessons?” Eggsy says, and Roxy nods. 

 

The rest of the agents clear off, bearing the pug off for more pampering. 

 

Eggsy turns to face Harry, head tilted slightly to one side. “What’s up, Harry?” 

 

Harry doesn’t seem to be in the mood for Eggsy’s cavalier attitude, if the way his eyes narrow is any indication. “What do you think you were doing, climbing up the side of the building like that?” he snaps, stabbing one finger towards the manor. 

 

Taken aback, Eggsy glances between Harry and the building. “Um. Rescuin’ a pug?” he says, hating the way he sounds so uncertain. He doesn’t know what he’s done to make Harry so angry with him, but it settles uncomfortably in his gut. 

 

“You’re a veterinarian, not a field agent,” Harry growls. “Your job is to stay here with your feet on the ground, taking care of the animals.” 

 

Uncertainty turns to anger, a muscle in Eggsy’s jaw tightening. He doesn’t much appreciate being talked down to. “What the fuck is your problem?” he asks. “You said it yourself, I’m supposed to be takin’ care of the animals, so what did you expect me to do? Leave him up there? Not happenin’, bruv.” 

 

Harry bristles. “If I see another stunt like that, I might be forced to reconsider your position at Kingsman,” he says, voice low and threatening. 

 

Eggsy’s jaw drops in disbelief. “ _ What? _ Harry, that’s insane. The rest of them thought I was bloody brilliant, half of them even asked me to teach them to do it themselves!” He takes a step forward, crowding Harry’s space. “Would you even be havin’ this conversation if Roxy or Bors or Percival had been the one up there?” 

 

Harry glares at him staunchly for a moment, tension crackling in the space between them. “No,” he finally admits.  

 

“Then why the fuck are you havin’ it with me?” Eggsy asks, folding his arms over his chest. His brief flare of anger is fizzling out, but he’s not letting Harry off the hook that easily. 

 

Harry opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, looks away. He strikes Eggsy as distinctly uncomfortable, fingers twitching as if they’d rather be doing something other than simply resting at his side. 

 

“Harry?” Eggsy prompts, voice softer than before. 

 

Slowly, Harry manages to turn back to Eggsy. He clears his throat once, shrugs, and says, “I care about you. Perhaps slightly more than the rest of them.” 

 

Eggsy’s eyebrows twitch upward. Is that the confession he thinks it was? Only one way to find out, really. “I care about you too. Considerably more than the rest of them,” he says, smirking. 

 

That seems to take Harry by surprise. He blinks owlishly at Eggsy before taking a half-step forward. “Do you?” he asks, the two of them almost touching by now. 

 

“Yes,” Eggsy says. He reaches out to place a hand on Harry’s chest, both to finally establish contact and to stop him from stepping closer. “But let’s get one thing straight before you kiss me.” 

 

“Who said I was going to kiss you?” Harry asks, trying to sound affronted. 

 

Eggsy doesn’t say anything, just gives him a look. 

 

Sighing, Harry inclines his head. “Alright, what are we getting straight?” 

 

Eggsy grins triumphantly, sobering up a second later. “I ain’t some delicate flower you gotta protect, yeah? That ain’t the first buildin’ I’ve climbed up, it won’t be the last, and I’m still here anyways. Besides, it’s a bit unfair of you to sit here worryin’ about me makin’ my way up an inanimate object while you’re out there bein’ a secret agent. If there’s anyone here who should be worryin’, it’s me. Got it?” 

 

Harry concedes with a soft laugh. “You do have a point,” he says. 

 

“Course I do,” Eggsy says, patting Harry’s chest before dropping his hand. “Now. You were gonna kiss me?” He doesn’t intend for it to come out sounding so much like a question, but a sudden wave of self-doubt crashes over him. 

 

Smirking, Harry places both hands on Eggsy’s hips, tugging him forwards. “I was,” he assures him. 

 

Eggsy twines his arms around Harry’s neck. “Are you sure? Not worried it’ll be too dangerous for me?” he teases. 

 

Harry groans, casting his eyes to the heavens. “How long are you going to hold this over my head?” he mutters. 

 

Eggsy waggles his eyebrows. “Until you do something even more embarrassin’,” he says. 

 

“What have I gotten myself into?” Harry asks. 

  
“A damn good thing,” Eggsy replies without missing a beat. And, unwilling to wait any longer, he tugs Harry into a kiss.


End file.
